Ptolemy's Gate

we're calling them now in public," he agreed. "They seem to prefer it. Doesn't mean anything, of course."
    "I see," she said crisply. "Well, no—thank you, but I am quite all right as I am. I'm sure none of the departments would want an old commoner like me thrust into their midst, and anyway, I still rather enjoy my job. But it is very kind of you, all the same." She pushed up her coat sleeve and glanced at her watch.
    The magician clapped his hands together. "You have to get on!" he said. "Listen, why don't I give you a lift? My chauffeur can take you anywhere. Save you being crammed in like a sardine on a bus or train—"
    "No, thank you. You are very kind." Her face was stony.
    "Very well, if that's the way you feel about it." Despite the chilly air, he felt hot and irritable. Fervently he wished he had remained within the car. "Well, it has been a pleasure seeing you again. Of course, I must ask you to treat what you know in the strictest confidence. . .Not that I need to mention that, I'm sure," he added, somewhat foolishly.
    At this, Ms. Lutyens looked at him in such a way that he was suddenly transported back half his lifetime, to the days when her rare displeasure cast his schoolroom into desperate shadow. He found himself looking at his shoes. "Do you really think," she said tartly, "that I'll want to tell the world that I once saw you, the great John Mandrake, our beloved Information Minister, hanging upside down with your bottom in the air? That I heard your yelps and wails of pain as cruel men beat you? You think I'd tell this? That's really what you think?"
    "No! Not that. I meant about my name—"
    "Oh, that " She gave a short, dry laugh. "It may surprise you to know," she went on, "that I've got better things to do with my time. Yes, even I, with my silly little unimportant job, don't have a great desire to betray the children I once worked with, no matter what they've become. Your birth name, Mr. Mandrake, is safe with me. Now I must go. I'm late for my work."
    She turned, began to stride off along the pavement. He bit his lip, his anger mixed with distress. "You're misinterpreting what I'm saying," he cried. "I didn't come here to crow over you. I just didn't get a chance, back then, to thank you. . ."
    Ms. Lutyens paused, and looked back over her shoulder. Her face had lost its anger. "No, I think I do understand," she said. "And I am pleased to know it. But you mistake yourself. It was the boy who was grateful to me, and you are no longer that boy. You do not speak for him. We have nothing in common, you and I."
    "I wanted to say that I know you were trying to save me, and—"
    "Yes," she said, "and I'm sorry I didn't. Good-bye, Mr. Mandrake." Then she was off, walking swiftly away from him among the damp leaves.

17

    Another few hours, another summons—hey, that's the way I like it. A day without enslavement is a day that's wasted, as far as I'm concerned.
    Let me see. . . I'd had Mandrake. I'd had the girl. Who would it be this time? After Kitty's surprise appearance in the pentacle I half expected this one to be the postman.
    No such luck. It was my dear old master again, face like thunder. With a silver-tipped spear held ready in his hand.
    His evident intent stimulated a swift response. I forced my poor old essence into an imposing shape: a lion-headed warrior, of the kind that fought in Egypt's wars.[1] Leather breastplate, looped bronze skirt, eyes that shone like crystal, fanged teeth glaring from black gums. Nice. I held out a warning paw.

[1] Technically, I suppose I was lioness-headed, since I lacked a mane. Manes are very overrated; okay, they're good for posing, but they block out all your side vision in battle, and get terribly claggy with accumulated blood .

"Don't even think about it, squirt."
    "I want answers, Bartimaeus! Answers! And if not—see this spear? I'll make you eat it before I'm done." The words came tumbling from his twisted mouth. His eyes were wide and staring like a fish. He seemed a little upset.
    "You? You'd only recognize the sharp end if you sat on it." My voice was velvet-smooth. "Be careful, though. I'm not exactly defenseless myself." From my paddy-paw a talon popped, curved like a sickle moon. I turned it idly, so it caught the light.
    He grinned nastily. "Ah, but that's all show, isn't it? Two days ago you weren't even able to talk, let alone resist attack. I'm betting if I prod you with this silver here, you'll know about it. And you won't be able to